


If I Lose Myself

by ninjamcgarrett



Series: Feels Like Coming Home [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Memories, Reunion, Reunions, from brubaker's comics, stevebucky - Freeform, takes place just after steve restores bucky's memories, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjamcgarrett/pseuds/ninjamcgarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a thunderstorm, Steve reminisces about a similar storm during the Second World War. A ghost from his past appears in the present and surprises Steve during the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Lose Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl0nfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/gifts).



> Written for my wonderful and completely kickass best friend, girl0nfire, for her birthday. Thanks for always having my six. I love youuuuuuuuuu <3

Steve paced the floor of his apartment, mind racing faster than his feet. Another crack of thunder rumbled across the sky and he turned away from the window, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that gathered there. He had disliked thunder ever since coming out of the ice; it reminded him too much of the war, of the crack of artillery shells over his head and the cries of the men around him. Steve would have loved to blame his sleeplessness on the thunder, but he knew it was something else, another memory from the war that sat at the edge of his mind, gnawing and begging for attention. If Steve were really being honest with himself, it wasn’t just a memory, it was a person.

Lightning brightened the room, washing away the details around him and Steve found the dregs of a long-forgotten memory rising to the surface. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup in his hand. He tried to fight the images, knowing that there was no sense in reliving the past. Ghosts were ghosts for a reason; they were intangible, with no meaning, and no relevance. Steve knew that was a lie though. This particular ghost was very real and held the answers to everything – to the memories in his head, to the ache that beat in his heart, to the man that had fled as the glow from the Cube had faded.

Another crack of thunder rolled through the storm clouds overhead and Steve let the memory coalesce.

_The leaves and earth were damp and muffled the sound of his boots as he moved out of the tent. Thunder had woken him a few moments before and Steve had told the others in the tent to go back to sleep; they didn’t have to move out for another four hours. The moonlight barely filtered through the thicket of trees they had made camp under and Steve mentally thanked Erskine for the serum that had given him perfect vision. He hiked up the collar of his jacket against the rain as it grew heavier._

_Steve looked around for telltale signs of their man on watch. A flash of lightning accompanied the thunder this time, illuminating the woods for a split-second, and that was when Steve saw him. It was a jumpy move, someone shifting, as if trying to get away from the noise and light. He cleared his throat as he approached the man who had his back against a tree and a rifle across his knees, not wanting to spook him more than the storm had already done so._

_“Hey,” Steve said softly, crouching down. “Figured you’d be up in a high spot for a better view.”_

_Bucky’s dark eyes looked up at him, locking on Steve’s blue ones amidst the raindrops between them._

_“Lightning. Didn’t want to risk being up high. Should be laid flat down on the ground here, but wanted my back against something. Bugger this storm, Steve.”_

_Steve chuckled, brushing a lock of damp hair back from Bucky’s forehead. “You’ve been hanging around Falsworth a little too much.”_

_A moment of silence passed as Bucky shifted, making room for Steve to sit in front of him under the canopy of tree branches. Steve took in the sight of his best friend, noting the way his fingers trembled from the cold and his clothes were thoroughly soaked. He shrugged out of his jacket, not really needing it thanks to the serum, and tossed it over Bucky, who didn’t even hesitate before shrugging into it and hiking up the collar._

_“Thanks,” he said, readjusting his grip on his rifle. “The cold was getting too obnoxious for my taste.”_

_Steve saw the tight line of Bucky’s jaw and sighed. “What’s really bothering you, Buck?”_

_The dark-haired man was quiet as he buried his nose in the thick material of Steve’s coat and inhaled deeply. His eyes closed and Steve smiled as the worry lines bled out of Bucky’s face momentarily. In the past weeks, it seemed that they had become a permanent fixture, something that Steve didn’t like in the least._

_“I missed this,” Bucky said softly, his eyes still closed. “Your scent. When I was –_ there. _Y’know, in that hellhole of a camp.”_

_Steve’s gut twisted, remembering the state Bucky had been in when he’d found him. Bucky never really talked about what that time as Schmidt’s prisoner had been like, but Steve’s imagination had filled in quite a few gaps._

_“I’d close my eyes, after that rat of a doctor left, and try to remember your scent.” A short laugh, dark and full of pain escaped Bucky’s throat. “Pretty sure that was what kept me sane.”_

_He opened his eyes then and looked at Steve, whose own face now held worry lines._

_“Bucky,” Steve said softly. “I wish I had gotten to you sooner. What they did to you, I – ”_

_“Don’t,” Bucky said. “It’s not your fault. You got me out, that’s what matters.”_

_Steve took off his gloves and reached out, the tips of his fingers gently running the length of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his skin cold against Steve’s hand._

_“You pulled me out. You found me. You, Steve.”_

_Steve knew then, in the midst of a war that seemed as if it were the end of the world, that this was as close as an undying declaration of love that Bucky would ever come to. He knew that whether they perished tomorrow in the raid on the Hydra facility or years after the war, that he would always cherish this moment, soaked in the rain, spoken in soft whispers, and the feel of Bucky’s love as it wound its way around his heart._

_“I’ll always find you, Bucky,” Steve said, fighting past the knot of emotions in his throat. “Just like you always pulled me out of fights when I was little; I’ll do the same for you.”_

A thump sounded over Steve’s shoulder somewhere on the fire escape landing outside his windows. Steve turned, searching the dark shadows outside, trying to see what had caused the noise. Part of him wanted to believe it was just a trick of his imagination, conjured from the memory of his past, or that it was a stray animal seeking shelter in the storm.

Another flash of lightning appeared, blinding Steve and filling the room. When it faded, the room was plunged into darkness, the power having been knocked out. A split-second later, a crack of thunder sounded overhead. As Steve’s eyes readjusted to the darkness, he saw a shadow move on the balcony.

Moving softly, keeping to the darkest parts of the room, Steve made his way to the door. He drew parallel with it, his back to the wall. Counting the slow, even breaths against the beat of his heart, Steve wrapped his hand around the doorknob. A final exhale and he threw the door open, whipping around to fill the doorway, ready to face the danger there.

What he saw rattled him, nearly pushing him to drop his raised fists.

Before Steve stood the ghost from his memories. His hair was darker in the storm, longer, nearly down past his chin now, and soaking wet from the rain. A dark jacket was worn over the tall, broad shoulders and the collar was hiked up, casting shadows across the man’s face – save his eyes. Those burned in the dark, a myriad of emotions and thoughts blazing through them – something that was new, a result of Steve’s work with the Cube. Steve saw the glint of the metal fingers as they lifted and shoved the damp hair back, much as Steve had done to him decades before – before the man had become a ghost. The man’s head tilted to one side and Steve watched, still and silent, as the eyes looked him over, taking in the sight of Steve.

A spark of recognition and pain flashed through the eyes before the man spoke, his voice rough and thick.

“I – I know you,” he said, taking a slow step forward.

The metal arm remained still as the man’s right arm moved, his fingers coming up to trail hesitantly along Steve’s jaw, just as Steve had done long ago. Steve met his eyes, waiting for the reaction.

“Steve,” the man said, the supersoldier’s name winding out of him like a sigh of relief.

Bucky tumbled into Steve’s arms then, both hands clinging to the back of Steve’s shirt, as Steve wrapped his arms around him. Steve’s ghost had come home, fractured, long overdue, but finally where he was meant to be; safe, needed, loved.


End file.
